


Something To Be Loved

by SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Belly Rubs, Bottom Credence Barebone, Bubble Bath, Caring, Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Heals, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Original Percival Graves, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feeding, First Kiss, Food, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Hair, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Master/Pet, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Submission, POV Credence Barebone, POV First Person, Pampering, Pet Names, Pet Play, Pining, Possessive Original Percival Graves, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Praise Kink, Protective Original Percival Graves, Public Display of Affection, Puppy Play, Rimming, Romance, Slash, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Sub Credence Barebone, Submission, Tenderness, Thighs, Top Original Percival Graves, Wet & Messy, shushing during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: The day we first... played was the day Mr Graves took me for a walk along the Hudson river. Starting that day, I've been learning my place in the world. And, best of all, inhisworld.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inb4invert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inb4invert/gifts).



>   
> 
> 
> Encouraged by [my giftee's fantastic 1st person POV (Dom Graves) story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536977) currently posting, I've decided to give writing 1st person POV (sub Credence) a try. I've been wanting to write puppy play in this fandom for a while, and that POV felt most natural for it. :)
> 
> I anticipate 2 chapters in total, 3 at most. Note that the rating is for the story overall; this chapter is not explicit yet. Tags will also be added to. This part is probably a "T", and you could read it as a stand-alone, if you're only in it for the puppy play.

The day we first... played was the day Mr Graves took me for a walk along the Hudson river. He didn't think it safe for me yet in New York, in case I was seen. I was supposed to be dead; his Aurors thought me too dangerous to live. Maybe I was then. I used to worry a lot about being a danger to Mr Graves. Starting that day, I've been learning my place in the world. And, best of all, in _his_ world. I feel more settled now. And I feel many other things as well.

* * *

We were walking along the Hudson, north of the city. It was nice to be in the countryside, to breathe fresh air. I never had been, before. Before... I found Mr Graves, the real one I had only known briefly. I don't know what made me happier—to find him alive, after the pretender was caught; or to be given a home by him. _With_ him.

For weeks, each night when I went to sleep, I expected to wake up in Pike Street the next morning and find it had all been just a dream. A wonderful dream I never deserved. But I was not supposed to think like that. Mr Graves kept telling me that I deserve good things. All the good things the magical world owed me, and all he could give me. I thought he meant books and food and clothes. All I've ever wanted to deserve was to stay with him, always.

That day at the Hudson, he offered me his arm, and I took it. No one gave us a second glance; I think he used a spell to make us unnoticeable. I didn't mind no one being able to see us, because he knew, and I knew, that we were walking closely together. That was all that mattered. It made my heart pound.

Mr Graves pointed out the puppy. He was laughing at the bedraggled looking little thing, which was running in circles around us, sensing but not really seeing us. He leaned down and patted the terrier's head, and he bounced and barked happily at the ghostly touch. Mr Graves said, "good boy," and ruffled his right ear, and I felt quite strange all of a sudden. Jealous of a small dog.

Confused, too. Did I want Mr Graves to play with my ear? The thought made heat rise in my face. It was so silly and embarrassing. I hoped Mr Graves wouldn't notice, but of course he looked up at me then.

"Are you okay, Credence?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"Yes, Mr Graves."

"You look flushed. You're not ill, are you? If you want to apparate back home..."

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Just... I was trying not to laugh at the dog." It was a ridiculous explanation, but he let me get away with it.

"Well, if you say so." Smirking in that way which always makes me feel very warm, Mr Graves gave the dog a little smack on his behind and sent him on his way.

My face grew even hotter then.

We sat down on a bench by the river, and only a few minutes passed before someone sat down on the next bench over: a man with a small poodle. The poodle tried to jump up on his lap, but wasn't tall enough, so it made a few circles in front of the man, then lay down on his feet instead, snuffling contentedly.

"Credence?" Mr Graves gave me a little nudge.

I looked at him, wondering if he'd been trying to get me to react for a while. "I'm sorry, Mr Graves, I was lost in thought."

"It's okay." He frowned, watching me. "You seem to like dogs. I suppose you'd quite like one for company while I'm out during the day, hmm? The garden at the back of the house would be big enough for a small—"

"Oh no, Mr Graves, there's no need!" I hurried to say. "I was just thinking it must be nice, being—" I stopped, suddenly feeling foolish.

The poodle whuffed then, and the man picked it up, settling it on his lap and stroking its fur. I watched how contentedly it sat there, its tongue lolling out, soft head against the man's stomach.

I might have sighed, imagining what it must be like to be something so small and easy to hold, something to be played with. Something that's never done anything bad, has nothing uncontrollable and dangerous inside it. Something so soft and relaxed and... loved. I definitely sighed then. I couldn't stop it.

There was a gentle, soothing sensation on my nape, and I looked at Mr Graves. His hand was cupped around the back of my neck, and I could hardly breathe. His eyes were so soft on me, and questioning. And then his hand moved up, his fingers stroking through my hair, and I whimpered like the puppy earlier, I couldn't help it. His touch was so comforting and tender.

"Let's go home, Credence," Mr Graves said, and his voice sounded strange.

I just nodded, feeling all warm inside, as if he had given me a gift box, and I didn't yet know what was inside.

* * *

When we apparated into the living room, Mr Graves didn't let go of me right away. He held me a little longer than usually, and I clung to him, glad for every moment of contact. When he did let me go, he pushed me back far enough to look into my eyes.

"Why don't we have an early evening, Credence? Just shut the blinds, light the fire, get comfortable, and enjoy some peace and quiet."

It sounded heavenly, but I didn't want to waste his precious time. "You don't have work to do, Mr Graves?" He often did, even on the weekend.

He shook his head. "Nothing urgent enough to waste a lovely evening."

I smiled. "Then that would be really nice."

Mr Graves smiled back with his fond, beautiful smile I loved. "Why don't you go and have a shower, or even a nice hot bath? Get really comfortable and cosy. Wear that new bathrobe I bought you last week."

I blushed. I hadn't dared to wear it until then. It reached right down to the floor, and it was so thick and soft and luxurious, like a second skin or a warm blanket. And it was a soft deep grey with a shimmer of blue. "I'd like that, Mr Graves," I admitted.

He looked proud, as he always did when I first agreed to wear or eat or use something he had given me. It was worth feeling a little guilty to please him. It was worth _anything_ to please him.

* * *

When I came out of the bathroom, feeling relaxed and soothed by the hot water and the spicy-sweet bath oil, I was wearing the robe. I couldn't stop running my hands over the material. It felt sinfully good against my bare skin. When I got to the living room, I stopped and just stared.

Mr Graves sat in his favourite wide, brown armchair near the fire, wearing a dressing gown of his own—dark blue and silver, with elegant black pyjamas peeking out. His feet were in slippers. He was sipping a glass of whiskey and smiling at me. "You do look comfy."

I nodded. "So do you, Mr Graves." I took in the rest of the room. Being late autumn, it was almost dark outside, but the room was already darkened to look like evening. The blinds were drawn and candles lit. There was a plate of cookies on the coffee table, and cushions were spread out all over the floor—which was unusual for Mr Graves, who is very tidy and particular.

"Sit anywhere that looks comfortable, Credence," Mr Graves said, and it sounded a little like a test.

Of course, the first place I moved towards was the other armchair opposite that of Mr Graves, on the other side of the fire. But I hesitated, looking at the pile of cushions beside his armchair, unable to hide my longing to be close to him.

" _Anywhere_ , Credence," he said, looking into my eyes for a long moment.

"Anywhere?" I asked.

He nodded and smiled. "Absolutely anywhere at all."

For a moment, I thought about sitting on his lap, scaring myself with my boldness. Then I chose the second most scandalous option and sank down on the pile of cushions beside him, knees drawn close to my body under the long robe, my toes just peeking out.

Mr Graves was still smiling, looking down at me now. He sounded very pleased when he said, "Well chosen. Such a good boy."

My face flared up and, for a brief moment, I thought he was mocking me, but his eyes held mine, kind and gentle as always, and I relaxed. He held his hand above the top of my head and spelled my hair dry then, and a gentle tepid breeze moved through it. It made me shiver.

"You have such a healthy glow from that walk outside. I must take you out more, rather than to keep you hidden away inside, all to myself."

"I don't mind, Mr Graves," I said honestly, trying not to read anything into the 'all to myself'. I liked being at home, more than anything, especially when Mr Graves was home as well. I felt safe and secure, with solid walls around me. Safe from the world, if not from the darkness inside me.

"I know you don't mind, but your skin is so nicely flushed and your hair so shiny and soft."

I ducked my head. I was definitely flushed, I knew. As for my hair... now that it was long enough to curl, which ma had never allowed... I supposed it wasn't so bad.

Mr Graves touched the crown of my head then, and I could only look up at him with a thumping heart. "So very soft," he said, sounding almost admiring? He let a strand slip through his fingers, then curled another one around his index finger.

I blinked up at him when he started stroking my hair, hardly able to believe we were sitting like that, and he was indulging me. When his hand moved down the side of my head, just cupping my left ear, I couldn't help but lean into the touch, sighing before I could stop myself.

"You're such a beautiful boy, Credence," Mr Graves whispered. Then he looked as if he was holding his breath, waiting.

I know _I_ stopped breathing. I could only stare at him, sure I was dreaming. He had only ever said things like that in my dreams. Even then, I wouldn't have dared to imagine him finding me beautiful. I parted my lips to speak, but nothing came out besides a soft whimper.

" _My_ beautiful boy," he said then, and I couldn't help a little sob. "Aren't you, Credence? My precious, beautiful boy."

I nodded at once, then pressed into his hand on the side of my face again, wanting to let him know how I loved what he was saying, but unable to make my voice work.

He turned a little, so my chin nearly touched his knee, which he patted.

I blinked at him, looked at his knee, looked into his eyes again, making sure he really meant for me to...

"Come here, sweet boy, relax. Relax, and let me take care of you." His voice was as low and soft as if he was caressing me.

And they were such wonderful words that I hurried to obey, resting my cheek on his knee. It felt so right, and it helped hide that my eyes were filling with tears.

"That's it." He stroked over my hair again, from my temple to my ear, from the crown down to my nape... slow, steady strokes. His fingertips felt like the softest brush over my scalp, moving slowly but firmly enough to make my skin tingle. I wanted to melt under his touch and be lovingly collected in his hands like warm candle wax, then reshaped just the way he wanted me.

"You don't need to do anything but relax and trust me, and let me look after you," he said.

And that was easy, so easy. I trusted him with my life. I closed my eyes with a sigh and, after a few more strokes over my hair, his hand moved lightly down the side of my neck. It made me shiver, but before I could worry that he might notice, it moved on to my shoulder. There was just enough pressure to feel it through the robe. And I suddenly felt as if that hand, that light touch, could keep me firmly together and on the ground. I knew, with that hand on me, with Mr Graves' touch keeping me calm and grounded, the Obscurus had no chance. I would not fly apart into smoke and fire, or shards of coal. I would stay right there, folded against Mr Graves' leg, warm and secure and solid. His gentleness would keep me from breaking.

He started talking again, very softly, as if he was afraid the words might scare me. "I watched you earlier, Credence," he said. "I watched how you reacted to those puppies."

My cheeks were heating up, and I was glad he couldn't see my face. I held my breath, a little, while he continued speaking.

"Now, I may be wrong and, if so, feel free to protest, but I got the feeling you envied them, a little."

I felt so ashamed that he knew my secret. I couldn't speak, and I certainly couldn't protest, since he was correct. But his gentle strokes had not stopped. In fact, his hand squeezed my shoulder each time it reached it, before moving back towards my neck. I told myself, as long as he continued touching me so kindly, he couldn't be too angry.

"If I'm wrong, you can tell me so, Credence, and no harm done. If I'm right..."

I looked up at him, realising too late that my eyes were probably giving me away.

"If I'm right," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it, "you can be my sweet, gentle puppy any time you like. You can simply ask me, or you can sit there like that and lean on me in your soft fur robe and look up at me, and I'll know. You can do whatever makes you happy... play, nuzzle against me, beg for treats, sleep, or just let me caress and soothe you. When you want to be a boy again, simply speak. Does that sound good?"

I stared at him for a long time, hardly breathing, and he did not look away, just giving me time to decide. How could he know this... this terribly strange thing... was what I wanted more than anything? Surely, it was sinful?

"I can see you thinking very hard," he told me, smiling. He cupped my cheek, and I breathed in the scent of his cologne. "There's nothing wrong with this, Credence. It's not evil, or harmful, and I will never judge you for wanting it. In fact... I would love the opportunity to care for you like this."

I must have looked surprised, because he looked deep into my eyes and said, "I promise you, nothing makes me happier than to look after you and spoil you and to see you put your trust in me."

I bit my lip. I believed him and trusted him, absolutely. He'd never given me a reason to do otherwise. What I didn't understand was how he could treat this as if it wasn't very, very strange.

"We can give it a try and, if you don't like it, we'll never speak of it again." Mr Graves' hand traced the outline of my ear while he looked at me softly, head tilted to one side.

And I nodded, flushed and embarrassed. But I did nod. I wanted this, whatever it was, so much.

"Good boy," he murmured, his voice low and soft. His hand traced my jaw, and along to my chin, which he cupped. 

I closed my eyes when his thumb pressed lightly on the space between my nose and my mouth.

"Do you know, Credence, many cultures believe the little dent above the Cupid's Bow was caused by the touch of an angel?" he asked.

My eyes flew open, and his lips were quirked up in a smile.

"Oh yes," he confirmed, nodding. "It's said that an angel hushes each child before birth to stop it from telling all the secrets of the universe."

I smiled back at him then, and Mr Graves let his thumb circle to the side and the corner of my mouth.

"You have a particularly lovely Cupid's Bow, Credence. I think your angel must have been very envious. Or maybe very admiring. Maybe he even let you keep more secrets than the rest of us."

I couldn't stop a little huff of laughter, which widened his smile, and I swallowed, unable to look away. My face felt hot, but Mr Graves' eyes were fixed on my mouth, and it felt as if he was allowing himself to look, _really_ look at me, for the first time. It made me a little dizzy to see him so focussed on me. I'd been holding my breath and, suddenly, I needed to inhale, and I parted my lips.

Mr Graves took a deep breath then too, and his thumb was suddenly in the centre of my mouth, right over the open space, lightly touching both my top and bottom lip.

I thought, all at once that, if I was a puppy, I might... lick at his thumb. So I did.

He sucked in a breath, his eyes instantly fixing on mine, surprised. Then he smiled very slowly, nudging my lips a little further apart.

I kept licking at his thumb shyly, and he stroked the side of my face with the other hand.

"Are you hungry, little one? Would you like a treat?" His voice was somehow both rough and gentle at once.

The endearment made me feel _so_ warm, and I nodded. When he removed his thumb from my lips and his hand from my chin, I missed the touches immediately.

He reached for the plate of cookies and held one in front of my mouth. Not between his fingers, but in his palm.

I looked at him with a pounding heart, then noticed the cookie was my favourite – one of Kowalski's extra large orange chocolate chip cookies. Holding eye contact as long as I could, I bent my head and nibbled at a corner, tasting Mr Graves' smooth, slightly salty skin. I could hear him breathing quickly, and I sat back on my haunches as I chewed.

Mr Graves looked at me, then glanced at the cookie in his hand, and crushed it into crumbs with his thumb pressed into the centre of it. Then he looked at me again.

I licked my lips, and there was something in his eyes. Some other, different expression that made my skin tingle. I leaned in again, over his open palm, not looking away from his eyes. The only way I could eat what was left of the cookie was to pick up the crumbs with the tip of my tongue. I did so, swallowed, then repeated it until I had all of them, and only then did I meet his eyes again, and I gasped.

They looked darker, more intense than I'd ever seen them. And he was breathing hard, as if he'd been running. Even his cheeks were a little flushed, which was very unusual for him.

"Look how tidy you are, every last crumb gone," he said, and his voice was hoarse. "The very best puppy. Would you like another treat?"

I couldn't stop myself whimpering a little in a way that sounded more dog than human, but the warmth of Mr Graves' gaze kept me from feeling embarrassed. So I nudged my head against the side of his hand and whined a little.

Gentle fingers were back on my head, while he reached for a second cookie, crumbling that in his hand too before offering it to me.

I moved a little closer on my knees, hoping he wouldn't mind, so I could put my hands down on his thigh, side by side like paws, just above the knee.

He chuckled. "Brave boy," he murmured, resting the back of the hand holding the cookie crumbs on the backs of my hands.

I leaned in and licked up the crumbs, taking my time. All the while, he never stopped stroking over my hair, and I felt so cherished, it made me think I really could be his brave boy. So I kept licking once there were no more crumbs, just sliding my tongue across his palm, tasting his smooth skin, the fleshy mounds below his fingers. Those hands were so precious to me, holding me, touching me, caring for me, healing me still in so many ways. They worked so hard, wielded a wand against dark wizards and to teach me magic, smoothed down the fabric of my clothes and held my face. I loved those hands, as I loved every part of Mr Graves. He had no idea how much. It was only when I heard him make a soft, half suppressed sound that I realised I was licking the space between his thumb and palm, and must have been licking at all his fingers, because they were shining with dampness. Oh no.

When I tried to draw back, feeling very awkward, the long robe caught on both his leg and the pillows on which I was kneeling, and he stilled me with his other hand, rested it between my shoulder blades to keep me close. The robe had slipped off my left shoulder a little and exposed my knee too, but I didn't know how to cover myself properly again without making things even more awkward by letting him notice. It was too late, of course.

And maybe that was when I first fully understood that he sees every little thing that concerns me and sets out to fix it, to make it right for me, and I'm filled with warmth at that thought. It means he watches over me all the time. It means I'm _his_. The idea of being owned by him made me blush as much as my exposed skin.

"You'll catch a chill like that," he whispered, parting his legs wider to lean forward and over me. His hand was on the wide collar of my robe where it had slipped and reached my shoulder. He was leaning down so far, I could feel his hot breath on my bared skin. My eyes closed as a shiver slid over my skin, but it was instantly followed by the soft smoothness of the robe he tucked back into place. The he reached down to my waist and adjusted the belt, before drawing me close enough to take hold of the open fold of the robe no longer covering my left knee. He folded that back into place too and, for a moment, I felt the knuckle of his thumb against my bare knee and couldn't stop a whimper from escaping.

"I'm not sure you're warm enough, sweet boy. Do you need me to hold you close?" His voice was the loveliest temptation, and the words were irresistible.

I nodded, and even made a soft whuffing sound, which earned me a pleased smile.

"Can you come up here or shall I help?" he asked then.

I smiled shyly and stood and, as soon as I did, he reached around my middle and pulled me down onto his lap. At once, he drew my legs up by reaching across my thighs, tucking my calves between himself and the arm rest. I was glad the armchair was so roomy.

The sensation of sitting on Mr Graves' lap and being held close was almost too much, and I feared I might cry. So I pressed my head into the crook of his neck and left my hands in my lap, wrapped into loose fists. I breathed in the scent of him, felt the silk of his robe under my cheek and the smooth-rough skin of his jaw against my temple. His scent was all around me like never before, and I was shaking, wondering if he could feel it.

"Isn't this just lovely, Credence," he murmured, his breath hot and a little quick on the side of my head. "You feel so soft and cosy in that robe." His voice was like honey, and I snuggled close to him and sighed contentedly. "A very fetching puppy suit, don't you think?"

I almost giggled, somehow managing to turn the sound into more of a yip.

He laughed softly, the arm around my middle tightening and squeezing a little gasp out of me. His other hand smoothed the fabric of the robe down over my shins until he reached the tip of my left foot. "I hope your paws are nice and warm too," he mused, folding his smooth palm around my toes.

I moaned before I could stop myself, the touch feeling so... intimate. When his hand moved down and along the sole of my foot – firmly to not tickle me - to check the temperature, I held my breath to prevent another moan. At last, the smooth hand wrapped around my heel.

"This one is nice and toasty," was the assessment, delivered in a voice that sounded husky. "What about the other one? I should make sure."

I made a sound of agreement, not even certain if I sounded human or puppy, but he understood.

This time, he started on my heel, curling his big, gentle hand around it, before tracing forward over the sole. He held his hand still there for a little bit, just keeping it wrapped around my sole, with his fingers gently tapping the sides of my arch. By the time his fingers reached my toes, squeezing them lightly, repeatedly... I could hardly breathe, and to think of his touch as play and of myself as a puppy became very hard.

I pressed my face into the side of his neck and couldn't stop my fingers from tightening in the folds of his robe. I knew he had to hear how I was panting, and I hoped... I just hoped he hadn't noticed anything else.

"Mr Graves," I croaked, unused to speaking and almost too overwhelmed to try.

All his movements stilled at once, but his hand remained curled around my toes, his arm firm around my waist. "Too much, sweet boy?" he asked .

I nodded against the side of his neck, even though I wasn't sure whether it _was_ too much, or... not enough. All I knew then was that I couldn't climb off his lap without embarrassing myself.

"Just rest, Credence. Stay quite still, right here, and let me hold you."

'Even though I'm no longer a puppy?' I wanted to ask, but didn't. I didn't want him to change his mind, to think too hard about the fact that he was holding a boy on his lap now. "Thank you, Mr Graves," I whispered.

He did something very unexpected then. He gently kissed my temple and said, "We could have a nap like this, if you like. If you're comfortable."

Most of me was _very_ comfortable, and I really did not want to move. "Yes, please, Mr Graves. I'd like that very much, if... if I'm not too heavy."

"Light as a feather," he murmured, shifting us just enough to lie back a little more. "Besides, I love to hold you, Credence. While you're in my arms, I know nothing and no one can hurt you."

Oh. _Oh._ He didn't prefer the puppy to the boy, and he didn't mind holding me at all. I sighed and nestled close, and my eyes drifted shut as my excitement slowly calmed. I could still feel the ghost of his lips on my temple, and a gentle wave of comfort sank down over me like a blanket.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time we played was the day one of my magic lessons went badly and, as much as I had enjoyed Potions until then, I did everything wrong and frustrated my tutor. What was more, with only half an hour to go until Mr Graves was due to return home, I was in an awful state. I smelled horrible from the small explosion I'd caused, and I was covered in most of the remnants of the potion; my hair was stuck together with an oily film, and my hands were burned.

My tutor dismissed me, when I asked to be allowed to clean myself up before Mr Graves' return, and set about vanishing the mess.

I showered and scrubbed myself clean, with so much force in the case of my hair that my newly grown curls were tangled hopelessly together, and I looked like a scarecrow. I could hardly peer out from under them.

I heard voices arguing out in the parlour. Oh, Mr Graves was back, and he was probably being told how badly I had done that day. Between failing him and being unable to even get a comb through my hair to look halfway presentable, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, close to crying.

Suddenly, there was a loud slamming of the front door, followed by silence and then footsteps coming closer, and then there was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"Credence?"

"Mr Graves... I... I'll be out soon."

"Are you okay, Credence?" he asked, very gently. "If you're decent, may I come in?"

I looked into the mirror again. I was decent in so far as I was wearing loose pants and an undershirt, but I still looked awful. Yet I wanted to see Mr Graves as soon as possible to apologise for being such a terrible student.

"Please come in, Mr Graves." I sighed, resigned.

The door opened and I looked... tried to look at him over my shoulder, but mostly only saw a mass of my own tangled hair.

There was a soft chuckle as he crossed the room. "Look at you. You've come over all wild, Credence."

I was surprised he was joking. He had sounded so serious outside with my tutor. "Mr Graves, I'm _so_ sorry." I shook my head in annoyance, trying to get a clear view of him.

"Shh, Credence, wait. First of all," he took the wide-toothed comb out of my fingers and turned me fully towards him, "may I help you untangle this?"

"I... yes, please." I held very still when he grasped a strand of my hair in his fingers and gently loosened the knots at the ends with the comb, slowly working his way up until the whole strand was untangled. He repeated this until he'd made a clear path to my forehead, and I could finally see him. I gasped at his gentle smile.

"Well, hello. There you are."

I blushed. "Oh, Mr Graves, I'm so sorry about the potion!"

He shook his head, even as he continued gently combing the knots out of my hair, with only slight tugs. "You have nothing at all to be sorry about, Credence."

"But—"

"I mean it. Draught of Living Death is an advanced potion not taught until about 6th year at Wizarding schools— and even then never fully mastered by students, I might add—and I can't imagine what possessed Cowen to make you attempt it so soon into your magical learning."

I blinked. "Oh."

His eyes were flashing with anger, even while his hands were as gentle as ever on my hair while he worked through the last few knots; I knew he wasn't angry at me. "It was dangerous and irresponsible to make you brew such a potion. You might have been hurt!"

I quickly hid my hands behind my back, but he noticed at once and stopped combing my hair. "Credence, did you... Merlin, don't tell me you _were_ hurt!"

"It's nothing, Mr Graves," I said, not wanting to see him any more upset.

"Please, show me," he said, very softly, laying the comb aside.

I sighed and held out my hands, which were blistered in a few places.

He swore under his breath, and quickly and efficiently healed them. "I can't believe Cowen didn't even heal this!" he growled

"I... I asked to be excused to clean up, Mr Graves. I didn't want you to see me covered in all that..." I shuddered. "Mr Cowen probably thought I could heal myself."

"That's no excuse!" He looked very stern, but then he gazed deep into my eyes and said, much more softly, "For him, Credence. You've done nothing wrong. But he is... _was_ responsible for your safety during your lessons. Mercy Lewis, I have a good mind to hire him back for five minutes, just to hex him into the next decade with his head on backwards!"

I stared at him in shock. "Hire him... back?"

"Naturally." Mr Graves' gaze softened even further. "My sweet boy, you don't think I'd subject you to even one more lesson with such an irresponsible tutor?" 

I blushed furiously, not knowing what to say.

Mr Graves continued to lightly hold my left hand in one of his, while he reached up and cupped my cheek. He spoke very quietly then, as if he was confiding a great secret in me, "I wouldn't have a moment's peace at work, wondering all day whether you're safe."

"Oh," was all I could say. I felt warmed by his concern, not to mention the palm on my flushed cheek, and I couldn't help but think about... _that_ day, and how he had soothed me and held me right up until I fell asleep on his lap. I licked my too dry lips, and his eyes flicked down for a moment, then back up to mine. "Mr Graves..." I began, unsure how to ask for what I wanted.

"What is it, Credence?" he prompted gently. When I couldn't reply for several long moments, just looked across the room to where my soft, grey robe hung on a hook, then stared helplessly at him, probably looking silly and flushed, he asked, "What do you need, sweet boy?"

I took courage from the way he asked. "May I, please..." I gulped. "Mr Graves, may I please be your puppy this evening?" It sounded foolish, spoken out loud, but I felt better when I saw the soft pleasure in his expression.

"Of course you may. Anytime." He cupped my face in both hands. "Why don't I have a quick shower, and then we'll eat the Italian meal I brought home with me. It might be a little messy to hand feed you fettucine; I might end up having to give you a bath." He winked. "But after dinner, we'll play."

I flushed and nodded. What he had said about giving me a bath made me feel hot all over, and I had a feeling I wouldn't easily banish it from my mind. "Yes please, Mr Graves."

* * *

After dinner, which we'd eaten in pyjamas, because Mr Graves likes to be dressed cosy at home as much as I do, he set the dishes to clean themselves magically and tugged me towards the sofa by the hand.

The living room was warm and smelled of burning pinecones, good food, and the beeswax candles adorning the mantelpiece and the sideboard. It was windy outside but, inside, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and soft ticking of the grandfather clock.

"Comfortable as you are?" Mr Graves asked as he sat on one end of the sofa, looking up at me.

I nodded. The soft green flannel pyjamas were as comfortable as the robe, and it was too warm for both.

Mr Graves smiled. He reached for the throw rug on the other end of the sofa and spread it out on the floor in front of him, then piled a couple of cushions on top of it. "Does that look like a nice spot for my puppy?" he asked teasingly, as if he wasn't offering me the kind of cosy nest any real puppy could only dream of.

I smiled, nodded, and sank down between his legs, immediately folding my hands over his right knee and placing my head on his thigh. His skin was warm through the smooth black fabric of his pyjamas, and I tried not to think too hard about how bold a place I had chosen for my cheek.

He didn't seem to mind because, within moments, I felt his fingers glide into my hair and travel lightly over my scalp. It reminded me of last time, and also of the gentle way he had untangled my hair earlier while it had been wet, and I sighed with pleasure.

"Accio hairbrush," he called out.

I held my breath as a smooth-handled brush flew into his hand from down the hall.

"Now that your fur is untangled, would you like me to brush it until it shines?" Mr Graves offered, and I nodded eagerly. "You'll be such a pretty boy," he promised.

I smiled to myself, and felt him leaning forward over me, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of my head that made me gasp.

"I should say, _even prettier_."

If I could have spoken right then, I'd have asked him not to tease me, but... puppies don't speak, so I had to accept the lavish compliment. I squeezed my hands over his knee and gave a soft yip, to let him know I liked what he was saying, and he chuckled.

He touched the brush lightly to the crown of my head and drew it right across my scalp slowly, and I sighed with contentment. The bristles were soft, so much softer than I had expected them to be; soft enough, probably, to brush the hair of a baby.

"Does that feel good?" Mr Graves murmured, drawing the brush from my temple back to the top of my nape. Then he waited.

I whined, slowly lifting my head and nodding, but otherwise not moving.

One warm hand reached around, and smooth knuckles caressed my cheek, and I fought hard not to turn my head and press my lips to them. I closed my eyes as the brush was drawn from my other temple across my head, unable to believe how soothing this felt.

Unbidden, I remembered how ma used to brush my sisters' hair, with rough, quick strokes to take out any knots; strokes which yanked back their heads until tears filled their eyes; there was a world of difference between that and Mr Graves' tender grooming, and I couldn't stop myself from shifting closer, resting my chin on his thigh, and tightening my fingers above his knee.

He stroked the side of my neck with the hand not holding the brush. He must have sensed my momentary tension at the memory, but he didn't question me, for which I was grateful. Then he continued brushing my hair – slow, even strokes moving in parallel paths across my head. He was extra careful around my ears, cupping them with a warm palm and tenderly folding them over as he brushed the hair behind them. 

When I couldn't stop a giggle at the sensation, I heard his soft laughter in response and, somehow, the brush strokes became even more like caresses.

"I could do this all night," he confided after a few more minutes, and I whimpered at the mere idea. "Imagine how glossy your lovely black fur would look. It's just sliding through my fingers like silk as it is."

I closed my eyes tightly, letting the warmth and affection in his voice wash over me, along with the sensation of the soft bristles, the hypnotic sound of them gliding through my hair. I think I swayed back a little, towards Mr Graves, for I felt my shoulders touch the firmness of his thighs. When they parted wider around me, letting me lean even further back, I didn't hesitate to accept the offer of more closeness.

Mr Graves' left hand splayed over my nape then. I felt his thumb nudging into the right side of my neck, the fingertips against the left, while his palm was warm on my skin. I vaguely realised he was holding my head just far enough away to keep brushing my hair.

I made a soft sound, after another minute or so of this, and he stropped brushing, waiting—I think—to see what I would do. I pressed back into his hand until my head rested against his stomach and looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

The hand under my nape moved forward around my neck, his palm just a warm weight over my Adam's apple, with no pressure. I was vaguely aware he must have discarded the brush when his right hand curled around my jaw, his thumb playing across my cheek. He parted his lips as if to speak but, like me, it seemed he couldn't.

I lay back against him like that, supported by the solidity of his body, until the hand on my throat moved into the V of my pyjama top and he turned me sideways until my head lay back against his thigh.

"Beautiful boy," he whispered, just loud enough to hear, his thumb moving from my cheek to the corner of my mouth. "You still have a little tomato sauce there."

I smiled while he dabbed at it with the pad of his thumb, my mouth falling open when he raised it to his lips and closed them over it.

"Imagine that, a puppy eating tomato sauce." His eyes were dark, looking into mine with, what I thought, or at least hoped, might be longing.

I rose to my knees and crawled around his right leg, his eyes following my every movement, until I reached the edge of the sofa. There, I lifted myself up to kneel on the seat beside him, rubbing my cheek against his upper arm.

He smiled, offering in a whisper, "Did you come up for a cuddle, sweet thing?"

I nodded, shifting to my right hip. I stretched out my legs along the sofa and lay my head down on his right thigh, hands folded in front of my face.

His right hand covered my hands, his left brushing a few strands of hair back from my forehead, then staying on the back of my head. "Good boy."

I drew my knees close so I lay curled up half next to, half on him, able to peer up into his face. I liked the way Mr Graves looked at me, always as if I was something wonderful, something valuable, he enjoyed to have near. I wondered how much closer I could get. What else might a puppy do? And then it came to me with a flush of heat. Did I dare? I blinked up at the kind eyes encouraging me without words and shifted, a little restlessly, further across his thighs until I was back in his lap, like last time.

He allowed it, helping me along with a smile and gentle tugs.

And then a lay across his lap on my back and reached for his right hand to place it on my stomach.

Mr Graves swallowed hard, the motion clearly visible in his throat and, for a moment, my courage left me and I was about to apologise and shift away, but then he spoke. "You'd like a tummy rub, precious?"

I nodded slowly, snuggling against him with my head against his shoulder and my hand leading his to somewhere just above the waistband of my pyjama pants.

He curved his palm against my stomach over the row of buttons on my top. He began to draw slow circles, but the fabric just kept bunching, so he rubbed his hand up and down. The thick flannel was still in the way, and he huffed softly just as I was wondering what to do about it, and our eyes widened simultaneously.

Mr Graves curled his fingers around the lower edge of my pyjama top. "May I?"

I bit my lip and nodded, then held my breath while he slid his warm hand underneath the flannel and along my skin. I knew he had to be aware of the rapid rising and falling of my diaphragm, giving away my excitement with every laborious breath.

"I hope my hand is not too cold?" he asked with concern.

No. Oh, no. The very opposite. And I wondered what had possessed me to silently beg for this, why I had thought I could handle it. But I shook my head. I couldn't stop this now. I felt as if my skin was burning for his touch.

And Mr Graves' hand began to move in slow, soothing circles over the skin of my stomach, carefully staying above the waistband of my pants. 

I whimpered at the warm touch, curling further into him to hide my flushed face.

"Shh," he hushed, his left arm holding me close around my shoulders. "I've got you. I'm here." The side of his head rested on the crown of mine—a warm, grounding pressure. "Just relax into my touch, sweetheart."

The endearment was new, and I loved it very much, sighing with pleasure.

"That's it," he purred, in a voice so low and deep, it lit a fire low in my belly.

"Mr Graves," I whimpered helplessly.

His lips grazed my forehead. "Would you like me to stop, Credence?" he asked huskily.

"No! Please... please, don't." I breathed as regularly as I could, my diaphragm moving against and away from his palm by turns, over and over. "It feels so nice."

"Sweetheart..." His voice cracked, and I felt his hot breath against my temple. He expanded the circles of his hand until they went right down to the elastic and up to the centre of my chest, and outwards from there, until a fingertip lightly grazed a hard nub on my chest.

I gasped, closing my eyes, though I suddenly wanted to be seen. To have him look at me.

Mr Graves' circling hand had slowed right down, and his breathing was quicker, but he was waiting to see what I might do or say.

I opened my eyes and tilted my head back a little, meeting his gaze while I reached for the lowest button on my pyjama top and undid it.

His gaze moved down, his eyes widening when he saw what I had done, but he covered my hand and placed it on my thigh before he continued what I'd started, slipping button after button out of their holes, his knuckles ghosting over my heated skin, until he could part the sides of my top, exposing my stomach and chest to his gaze.

I shivered, though not with cold, at his expression, my eyes following his fingertips as they traced circles on my flesh—sometimes smooth, sometimes catching a little on hairs.

"So beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself. "Credence... you're so very beautiful."

I could only stare at his face, his eyes lowered to watch the motions of his hand over my skin. I was very sure, then, that we'd slipped out of one kind of play into another.

"Please," I breathed, not sure what I was pleading for, but his soft gaze dropped to my chest as he toyed with one nipple under the tip of his index finger. I moaned.

"How sensitive you are," he murmured, and then he bent his head low over me and pressed a tender kiss to my chest, then another a little lower, and another on my stomach.

I was shaking by then, breathing hard. I was dimly aware my left hand was on his knee, gripping it hard. Maybe he thought I meant to stop what he was doing—I didn't, oh, not at all—but his little kisses travelled upwards again into 'safer' territory, towards my neck.

He kissed the hollow of my throat, and I let my head fall back with a sigh. Then his lips ghosted up my neck, barely touching; his breath was hot against my skin, drawing shivers and whimpers from me. When he kissed the underside of my jaw, I couldn't stop the moan slipping from my lips, and his mouth moved up to kiss my chin, the hollow of my cheek... the corner of my mouth.

I was trembling in his arms by the time his hand cupped the back of my head. When I felt his breath against my parted lips, hot and fast but held suspended between us, I opened my eyes and met his.

We didn't need words. His eyes asked, and I answered with a slow lowering of my lashes and an inhalation of the air we shared. And then his lips pressed against mine with a soft sigh, as though he had come home from a long, long journey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several tags have been added, both of the soft and caring and the sexy variety. :)

After that first kiss, which turned into many more kisses that left us both breathless, everything changed. I slowly lost my remaining fears of being rejected, of Mr Graves suddenly deciding he didn't want me in his home anymore, of appearing foolish, of asking for things to which I felt I had no right.

Because after that kiss, Mr Graves never left the house without kissing me in such a way that I was ready to plead with him not to go. And he never returned home—I always waited for him right by the door—without dropping everything and taking me in his arms to kiss me as if he hadn't been able to think of anything else all day long. Sometimes, he apparated or floo'd home in the middle of the day, sought me out, and kissed me until I was dizzy, before apologising to whichever tutor stood staring and flustered nearby for interrupting my lesson; afterwards, he returned to MACUSA, wearing a smile to match my own.

I began to live for his kisses, and for the way he held me in his arms on long evenings in front of the fire, with both of us sharing what we'd done during the hours we'd spent apart, whispering sweet nonsense to each other. 

I felt greedy for more, not necessarily knowing what 'more' would entail, only that whenever Mr Graves released my lips, I wanted him to keep kissing me. When he stilled his wandering hands with an apologetic smile, I wanted him to keep touching me. When he tucked me into my bed at night, I wanted him to tuck me into _his_ bed instead.

Sometimes, it felt as if he was on the verge of something more, but I think he was waiting for me to give him a sign that I was ready. I would have done, had I known the right sign and the right words.

One Saturday afternoon, after an impromptu Herbology lesson which saw us potting magical plants in the small garden greenhouse, he started brushing soil off my apron, then reached up to tug a few loose sticks and leaves from my hair. He kindly didn't comment on the fact that I was smudged with dirt from my face to my boots, while he looked as pristine as he'd done at the start of the lesson.

"I'm sorry I'm so messy, Mr Graves," I said, ducking my head.

His hands stilled, one on my shoulder, the other wiping a smear of damp earth from my cheek with his handkerchief, and he looked amused. "You've had your paws digging in dirt for a while, it's not surprising."

My heart began to thump against my rib cage, and my voice shook, but I couldn't have held the words back for anything in the world; I'd not forgotten something he'd jokingly 'threatened' me with a couple of weeks earlier. Suddenly, I knew how to ask for what I wanted without asking directly.

"I think with this much dirt on my paws and in my fur, Mr Graves, only a bath will do."

He swallowed, his eyes widening. His hand balled up the handkerchief, and the edge of his thumb brushed along the indent below my lips. He looked at me with an expression that made me feel hot all over. "A bath is certainly the most efficient way to clean you up, my messy little puppy." His lips turned up slowly into a teasing smile.

I smiled at him in return, but couldn't fully meet his eyes when I said, "I'll need help from my master. I'm all paws."

A soft huff of laughter escaped him, but his eyes darkened, and he reached around me to untie the gardening apron. We were both breathing hard while I was surrounded by his arms, and his breath was warm on the side of my neck. He dropped the apron on a bench, then did the same with his own, and took my hand. 

"Let's get you cleaned up, precious."

I obediently followed him inside, after leaving my rubber boots at the garden door next to his.

Once in the bathroom, I scrubbed my hands and nails clean, while he plugged the tub and magically filled it with lightly steaming water. I watched in the mirror above the sink as he added the soothing bath milk I love so much, because it smells of autumn and creates softly crackling bubbles, and smiled. When I turned around again, he was looking at me, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, waiting to see what I would do.

For a moment, I thought about undressing myself, turned away shyly, and I know he would have averted his eyes like the gentleman he is. But, instead, I walked up close to him, raised my hands in front of me, balled them loosely into paws, and gave him a pleading look.

He took a deep breath and smiled. "Let me do that for you, precious." He unbuttoned my shirt, starting with the cuffs and then working his way down the front, until he came to my belt, where he hesitated for a moment before undoing it. He let the two ends drop, then went down on one knee to peel my socks off my feet. Then he stood again and unbuttoned and unzipped my soil–stained trousers. Another brief hesitation, watching my face closely.

I gave an encouraging yip, and he smiled, pushing the trousers down over my hips; the weight of the belt drew them slowly down my legs, and I stepped out of them. Then he brushed my shirt off my shoulders and tugged it down my arms, reaching around me as he had done with the apron, to tug it over my hands, but pausing with me trapped like that for a moment—both hands behind my back, and his hands holding the shirt around them.

I inhaled his scent, where my nose grazed his cheek, and it was more intense than usual. I wondered if his skin was heating because he was revealing my body. I felt overwhelmed and awed by the thought, and whimpered softly.

"We're almost there, sweet boy," he murmured into my ear, then kissed the lobe, making me shiver even in the warm, steamy room. He let go of my shirt, which fell to the tiled floor, and then he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of my underwear and drew the fabric over my hips slowly.

I gasped when it caught, halting his progress, and sucked my lower lip between my teeth.

Mr Graves stilled, his hands framing my hips, which were an inch or two from his and nearly bare now. "Is my boy excited about his bath?" he asked, his voice a husky murmur.

I whuffed, very softly, my 'paws' tapping his chest.

"I'm feeling rather excited about giving it to you," he confessed.

I couldn't hold back a shuddery moan when he mouthed at my jaw and canted my hips towards his until we were pressed together. The temptation to speak and say something outrageous, pleading, desperate was so strong, but I resisted, and waited patiently for him to keep sliding the soft cotton down my thighs before letting it fall the rest of the way to the floor. He didn't look down, preserving my modesty, but he did offer me a hand to help me climb into the tub.

When I sank down into the warm, foamy water, my nudity was covered entirely. I sighed with pleasure and let my head fall back against the rim of the tub, exposing my neck.

"Now that looks comfortable," he said, adding more softly, "and inviting."

I looked at him wide-eyed, wondering if he meant to join me in the tub, but his eyes were on my neck, and he leaned down over me, a hand on each side of the claw foot tub, and pressed his lips to my exposed skin. I moaned, and he abandoned my neck in favour of my lips and, by the time he released them, I would have sworn the water had heated by several degrees. I sat up and watched him summon a bottle of shampoo, and then he sat on a small stool beside the tub and began to scoop water over my hair.

He took his time with the shampoo, massaging my scalp until my eyes drifted shut. When I made a soft, contented sound, he chuckled softly. "Now that sounded more kitten than puppy."

I smiled, not opening my eyes, just sitting with my head tipped back and supported by one hand at a time while the other worked up a lather on my head. Soon, he retrieved a jug he filled with clear water, rinsing my hair several times, before he rolled up a towel and folded it over the rim of the tub to support my neck more comfortably.

I looked up at him, feeling dazed and weightless, relaxed enough to float off if not for his solid, grounding presence.

Using a clean washcloth, he dabbed at my face, careful not to let soap get into my eyes or mouth, before he summoned a large, soft sponge from a hook on the wall. He watched me closely while he saturated it with the foamy warm water, then gently pressed it along the underside of my chin, all around my neck, and then outward to my shoulders.

I held onto the rim of the tub to make it easier for him to sponge along the lengths of my arms and, once that was done, he dipped the sponge into the water and began to move it in slow, gentle circles over my chest. I sighed when the porous texture tugged at my hairs and, with more intent on his behalf, at my nipples, and I don't think I imagined his breathing growing heavier and faster when I couldn't suppress little moans.

"Look how well-behaved you are, letting me wash you like this. Such a good, obedient boy."

I met his eyes with a smile, blinking the pleasant lethargy from them only to see how _his_ eyes had darkened.

He lowered the sponge further, smoothing it over my stomach and belly, then up and down the sides of my torso, before leaning closer and lifting it out of the water, and me away from the back of the tub with a hand on my nape.

I tensed a little, still self-conscious about the many scars that had marred my body. I was still getting used to the knowledge that Mr Graves had healed them, as well as most of those on my soul, with his care and affection.

He must have felt my tension, because he stroked my hair and kissed my shoulder tenderly, before he began to gently wash my upper back. Then he shifted me to lean forward over my knees and moved the sponge all over my back both above and below the waterline, right down to the top of my buttocks.

By the time that was done, and he leaned me back again, many of the bubbles were gone, and I gulped. I tried to gather the floating bubble islands that remained closer to me.

Whether or not Mr Graves noticed, he shifted to the lower end of the bath tub with his stool. "Hold onto the tub, precious," he instructed, and I obeyed at once. He reached into the water to lift my left leg up out of the pleasant warmth, with one hand under my calf and the other around my ankle.

I held my breath while he watched the water slide from the tips of my toes and along my leg back into the tub, whining softly when he sponged all around my foot, twitching when it tickled. I took deep breaths of damp, spicy air while he caressed my foot. Soon, he moved the sponge in slow strokes up my calf and then thigh. I couldn't hold back a moan when the soft material teased along the back of my thigh, then moved up along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh to graze the tightened orbs there and the base of my shameful arousal. A hot, tingling sensation made me harder than I already was, and I gasped at the look in Mr Graves' eyes.

Could he tell? Even while only moving the thick sponge against these private places?

"We want to be thorough, don't we?" he asked softly, and his eyes met mine with both challenge and a cautious request for permission.

I nodded, offering my left leg for the same treatment by lifting it up out of the water, heel on the rim of the tub.

He smiled, one hand strong around my ankle, the other washing my foot but, this time, he moved closer, and drew my foot onto his lap, dropping the sponge in the tub in order to massage each toe, one by one.

My mouth hung open. I felt it was the only way I could get enough air. The pads of his fingers worked over each toe tip, then along the sole and heel, and I felt each sensation as if he was touching me even more intimately.

"Do you like this, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Uh huh," I managed, then swallowed down saliva to warn, "You... you'll get your trousers wet." 

He smiled indulgently at me. "I couldn't care less."

I felt as warm inside as I did on the outside, and rested my head back against the towel, sighing. "Feels so good, Mr Graves."

He hummed as if he was agreeing, and kept massaging my foot for a little longer. "You may be my little puppy," he said softly, "but you have the endless legs of a full-grown whippet."

I blushed, which seemed to amuse him, and he rested my foot against the rim of the tub and treated my left calf and thigh to the same heart-stopping sponge caresses my right ones had been given.

By the time my legs were done, I was panting hard, and the bubbles had all but vanished to leave my reaction quite exposed to Mr Graves' eyes.

"I'm so happy you're enjoying your bath so much," he teased, and I covered my eyes with both hands, even while wondering whether I shouldn't be making an effort to hide other parts of me instead.

"Hey, don't be shy, my lovely, excitable boy. You have nothing at all to be ashamed of, quite the opposite."

I peered past my fingertips and found him smiling, looking flushed and very pleased, and I slowly lowered my hands, trying to get my breathing under control while his eyes moved up and down my body—the warm, milky-pale, translucent water left little to the imagination.

Mr Graves shifted closer and reached out to stroke a strand of wet hair out of my face, then continued gently petting my head. "I'm so proud of my beautiful boy." His voice was low, as if he didn't want to spook me, but raspy too.

"Why, Mr Graves?" I whispered.

"Oh, you sweet thing." He sighed, his eyes very tender. His fingers traced the rim of my ear between wet curls. "I know how shy you are, and yet you allow me to look at you, all of you." His fingertips trailed down the side of my neck and to my collar bones, his eyes never leaving mine. "You allow me to see how aroused you are by your bath."

I met his eyes as boldly as I could. "Not by the bath, Mr Graves. By you."

He dropped the sponge into the water and leaned over me, one hand on the tub either side of my shoulders. "Is that so?"

"Uh...hmm," I breathed.

His face was very close now, and his eyes dropped to my lips, and I prepared myself for a heart-stopping kiss. Each kiss he gave me was always, always more than the one before, and this one was the hungriest, most desperate one yet, his tongue soon parting my lips to allow his groan to echo in my mouth.

I raised both hands, hoping he wouldn't mind his shirt getting a little wet as well. He didn't seem to when my arms slipped around his neck, my fingers clutching his shirt and curving around the back of his neck. I felt him shifting, supporting himself on the edge of the tub with just one hand, while the other plunged into the water, searching with grazing touches along my skin for the sponge.

When he found it, he moved it up between my thighs, then pressed.

I gasped into his mouth, jolting when the soft, porous material slid up the underside of my... my... cock, tormenting me with the proximity of Mr Graves' hand just on the other side of it. I squirmed, sloshing water over the sides of the tub, and he released my panting lips to look at me.

"Please," I whispered.

"Please stop?" he asked, looking concerned.

I shook my head wildly, water spraying from my wet hair. "No, please... please touch me. Please, Mr Graves!"

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat, let go of the sponge to allow it to bob wildly in the water, and replaced it with his hand curling firmly around the shaft.

"Uhn!" I closed my eyes, gasping for breath.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Mr Graves pleaded. "I need to see how much you want this."

I met his eyes while he began to stroke me under the water, his touch silky smooth from the bath milk. I watched him move forward off the stool to kneel beside the tub, his hand on the rim sliding around my shoulder and to my nape, the other stroking me firmly but gently until I was gasping, clutching both sides of the tub.

"Credence... you're so beautiful!" he said, in a trembling voice.

"Oh, Mr Graves, I... I can't—"

"I know, I know," he soothed me, slowing his strokes, leaning in to kiss me again. His lips were sweet and gentle, and so was the hand caressing me then, gliding over my skin, touching me in ways I'd never been touched. "You come anytime you need to. You're doing so well, my wonderful, sweet boy."

I cried out and clung to the rim of the tub so hard, my damp hands slipped and made a squeaking sound. My hips pushed up towards him as if I had no control over them, water sloshing everywhere, and my feet kicked against the bottom of the tub when I felt pulse after pulse being squeezed from me by his wonderful hand, as if it was never going to stop.

He was kissing me again before it did, drinking up my cries as if they were champagne, and his hand didn't stop moving until I'd gone fully soft in his grasp. His tongue was reluctant to leave my mouth when I drew back to gasp for breath, still licking at my lips.

"Oh god," I whimpered.

Mr Graves hushed me with his lips grazing mine, then whispered sweet praises while I slowly calmed. At last, he murmured, "Sweetheart, may I take you to bed?"

"To _your_ bed?" I asked huskily.

"Yes." He kissed my cheek. "Do you want that, precious?"

"Yes! Oh yes, please."

"Good. I've wanted you there for a long time."

When I blinked at him, he looked bashful, and I whispered a soft, "Oh."

* * *

While the bathwater drained, he stood and retrieved two towels—a smaller one he wrapped around my hair, and a larger one he held up over the tub while I stood. He enfolded me in it, using a corner at a time to dab at my ears and my face, then loosened it just enough to dry the skin of my arms, neck and shoulders. Then he moved it down, exposing my chest as he dipped it into my navel, then caressed rather than dried my back, hips and buttocks with it.

And I was almost hard again, and embarrassed that it had taken me so little time, but when his petting hand traced the swell under the towel, he moaned softly, and I felt much better about it.

"That's very flattering," Mr Graves murmured, and I smiled.

I made a surprised sound when he took and flung both towels aside, then lifted me up and out of the tub. I clung to his neck and looked at him in surprise when he didn't put me down, but simply carried me from the bathroom and straight to the master bedroom.

He murmured a spell to light the fireplace as he walked past, then deposited me gently on the bed. He fluffed a few pillows behind my head, before standing beside me to just look down at me, his expression soft and very pleased.

I reached for him, and he took my hand, bending down and kissing it. "Why are you still so far away, Mr Graves?"

He smiled, intertwining our fingers. "Don't you think you should start calling me Percival?"

I smiled and nodded. "Why are you so far away, Percival?"

"Because, my dear, you made me very wet."

I giggled, unable to deny it.

He smiled. "Any suggestions what to do about that?"

I peered up at him from under my lashes. "You should undress."

"You think so?" When I nodded, he added, "It sounds sensible."

I shifted my right leg, clasping some of the fabric of his trousers with my toes, and tugged.

He laughed. "Are you going to help me?"

I whined, probably sounding bratty and impatient.

He looked down at me, his amusement slowly fading away to give room to a very different expression. He undid his belt, then unbuttoned his fine shirt and removed it, before doing the same with his trousers and underwear.

I knew I was staring, but every inch of skin revealed fascinated me. It was so much darker, and his body more muscular, than mine. The firelight played over his muscles, and I swallowed hard. I couldn't resist curling my toes against the lightly haired skin of his thigh, careful to avoid the even more tempting arousal which made me light-headed with want.

"Percival..." I whispered in awe.

"The way you're looking at me, Credence... it could go to a man's head." He stilled my foot, knelt on the edge of the bed, and raised it by the heel. He pressed a kiss to the pad of my big toe, then sucked it into his mouth until I squirmed.

"Oh!" I gasped, shifting on the soft sheets, my arousal twitching up against my belly and dripping.

He watched me closely, breathing hard when he released my foot and pushed my legs apart on the bed, and then he slid between them to cover my upper body and hips.

I groaned when he moved over me, hard and wet, and clung to his neck.

"You don't know how I've longed for this," he told me between kisses. "Feeling you naked against me. Feeling you in my arms... feeling you _wanting_ me."

I arched my neck when his kisses moved lower. "I do, so so much." The sucking kisses down my throat made me whimper. "Why did you wait so long, Percival?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I didn't know. I wanted to be careful, to not push you."

"Please," I gasped, my fingers twining in his hair when he kissed the hollow of my throat. "Please, I want more."

"What do you want, beautiful?" He wrapped his right hand around my thigh, raised it up and outward a little, slid up against me at a new angle that made me moan. "This?"

"Uh!"

"Or this?" His hand moved below me, fingertips seeking where even my own had never ventured.

"Oh..."

My mouth hung open, and he licked at my parted lips, then looked deep into my eyes. "Shall I do this to you? Here?" One finger caressed my opening, pushing against and inside ever so slightly.

"Oh god," I whimpered. "You mean... you would..."

"I would love to," he said, "more than anything."

I nodded, and he smiled, and then he shifted low on the bed and raised my legs by the calves, hooking them over his shoulders.

He kissed my inner thighs and lapped up the dampness there—his or my own, I didn't know. Before I could even catch my breath at the thought, he parted my cheeks with careful fingers and started lapping at the whole area around my... my hole, getting nearer and nearer. With a hum, he pressed a kiss there, then another, and I could feel his tongue trying to wriggle... inside my body, and I was dizzy at the outrageous, sinful, exciting sensation, at the way it curled my toes and made me drip continuously onto my belly.

"Percival... oh... you can't... shouldn't... oh, _please_!"

His chuckle at my attempt to make up my mind between sin and pleasure was such an intense sensation right there, I groaned, feeling myself opening around the intrusion, and he was inside, licking deep into me, and I sobbed at how _good_ it felt. I could only bear it for another minute or two before he had to tighten his hold on my thighs, which contracted around his head, and I let out a long, continuous moan while I spilled my essence all over my lower body, and up nearly to my chest.

I lay panting while he, very slowly, arranged my legs back on the bed, around himself, and nuzzled into my neck.

"How are you feeling, precious?" he whispered.

"Wonderful, Percival." I felt like a boneless, shapeless mass. "I never would have imagined..." I felt my face heat.

He laughed softly, sounding husky and a little strained. When he shifted against me, I knew why.

"You haven't..." I swallowed hard. "You're..."

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart." Percival kissed me tenderly. "I can take care of it later."

"But," I peered up into his eyes, "I want to."

"What do you want?" he murmured, caressing the edge of my jaw, his thumb brushing over my chin.

When he shifted slightly to kiss my cheek, I reached between us, tentatively touching his... cock; his groan made heat rush up through my body along my very bones. His hand wrapped around mine on his hard flesh, and my pulse raced when he tipped his head and looked between us, visibly affected by the sight.

"I want this..." I squeezed him lightly. "I want this inside me, Percival."

There was a twitch within my grasp, and a trickle of fluid welled up from the red tip and over my fingers. Breathing became hard then; for both of us, I think.

"Credence..." His hand left mine, moving to the base and grasping it tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a few shaky breaths, before he said, "I _want_ to be inside you, sweetheart, so much. But I'm very, very close." He laughed shakily. "I've been hard since your bath. You drive me crazy."

I whimpered. His words were doing the same to me.

"I need to take a lot of time preparing you properly, especially the first time, because I won't risk hurting you."

"Oh." I flushed. "I... didn't really know."

He smiled. "There's something else we can do that will feel _so_ good, and I should be able to hold on just long enough, too."

"Then... please, Percival. Yes."

"Good boy," he murmured, making me smile too. "Will you turn over, onto your stomach?" 

I nodded and reluctantly released the hot weight from my grasp. I shifted beneath him, shivering to feel the wet trail he painted around my hip while he helped me to turn, taking a few moments to press kisses where my scars used to be—a gentle reminder that they were no more, that I was, in some ways, a clean canvas.

As if reading my mind, he said, "Let's make new, good, beautiful memories, shall we?"

"Please," I agreed, feeling myself harden again a little already in the softness of the sheets under me. Even more arousing was his weight pressing me into the bed, his cock sliding against the top of my right thigh and the underside of my bottom. It felt so _good_ to lie under Percival... I felt like a soft, fragile creature then, and he was the solid shell protecting me—my home, and my barrier against the world as well. "So nice," I sighed.

"Just lying like this?" he asked, not sounding surprised. "I know, sweetheart." He kissed my shoulder blades, brushed the hair off my nape to kiss there too, then trailed kisses a little way down my spine. "You're so soft, Credence. Your skin is like silk."

"Percival," I muttered, a little embarrassed but also very pleased. I nudged back against him to remind him of the urgency he had mentioned, and he gasped, lifting himself off me a little.

"Lie still now," he said, with a smile in his voice.

"Yes, Percival."

He slid a hand between my legs and murmured a spell, and I jolted at the sensation of warm stickiness between my thighs and my cheeks. "Sorry, sweetheart."

I forgave him for the surprise only too gladly when he covered me fully again, his arms now over mine as well, holding my hands to the sheets, while he thrust down, and his arousal slipped between my thighs.

"Ah... oh God!" I closed my eyes, gasping for breath, while he slid along my sensitive skin, over and over across the opening which had been lavished with attentions from his mouth and tongue.

"You feel incredible," he murmured into my hair, his breath hot behind my ear.

"So do you. Ungh... Percival!" I almost squealed when he moved a little higher, dragging up between my cheeks, spreading the slickness there outward and upward, or maybe adding to it. I wanted... I wanted so much to feel him inside me, but I was warmed by his concern, his need to protect me from pain. Lying under him like this, I felt as if nothing in the world could _ever_ hurt me, least of all him.

"My sweetheart," his voice rumbled low in his chest, and I could feel it through my skin as I could feel every part of him. But the next words were whispered in my ear, like the most perfect secret and a truth just for me. "My everything... I love you so much."

I sobbed his name, turning my face far enough for him to be able to kiss the corner of my mouth. "I love you too." I gasped when his thrusts between my thighs turned slow and lazy, and he slid upwards over the curve of my bottom, where he throbbed and found his release, bathing me in his seed with a deep groan of pleasure. I felt the warm trickle slide down between my cheeks and thighs, some of it finding its way inside me where it belonged. And I sobbed with happiness.

Somehow, his body curled even more tightly around me, as if holding me together. Holding us together. And nothing in my life had ever felt more perfect than to have him mark me with his love.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweetsorcery) or [Dreamwidth](https://sweetsorcery.dreamwidth.org/). Feel free to drop me a message anywhere. :)


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